Guys and Godmothers

by Candice Gilmer

  She didn’t know.

  He was back in a minute, but this time, he adjusted the pillow on the couch behind his back, and lay down.

  Greta raised her eyebrow, and remained sitting near the edge as he slipped his leg behind her.

  “Come here, Greta.” He took her hand and pulled her to him.

  Awkward, and unsure how she should sit, she sort of scooted into him, and couldn’t quite bring herself to lie on his chest. But it obviously was what he wanted.

  He nudged her shoulder, until she’d laid down chest to, well, his stomach, and she could hear the soft thumping of his heart.

  “I’m so glad you came.” He stroked her hair, and kissed the top of her head.

  “I am too,” she managed to say. As much as she was enjoying being here—she’d never expected she would feel so content around him—she remained a little nervous. Not the initial rumbles of nerves she’d felt when she first arrived, because being around Bruce was so, well, easy.

  Instead, she felt dumb because part of her wasn’t sure what was going to happen tonight. Would she sleep with him?

  Would she go home? Or go try to find a hotel? Sleep on his couch? Part of her was pretty sure she was here for the duration. After all, she’d had several beers. Still, what was she saying?

  She was easy? Ply her with a few beers and she’d go to bed with him?

  She didn’t know what he expected.

  And she didn’t know what she was willing to do. Part of her screamed Bruce was worth it—he hadn’t balked at her scars, hadn’t called her a freak or anything. He’d been understanding and very quiet when she told him everything.

  And about that—she hadn’t told anyone the details in, well, years.

  Did that mean she trusted him? She wasn’t sure. But she had to. Part of her felt like she had to tell him everything, simply because she’d lied to him earlier. He deserved the truth.

  And he didn’t flinch when he touched her scars.

  She’d been the one to do that.

  “Bruce?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Did you want me to stay the night?”

  “Well, I don’t think I’m letting you leave.”

  “Why not?” Greta asked, tensing.

  “You’ve had, what, four beers? I don’t know how far away you live, but at the very least, you might fall asleep on the drive. So you’re staying here.”

  She put her chin on his chest and met his gaze. “But… I don’t know…”

  He smiled. “I’m not an ogre. I don’t expect you to have sex with me if you don’t want to. We just met today. You can sleep in my room. I sleep on my couch all the time, anyway.”

  She relaxed, surprised, and also happy.

  A gentleman, who would have thought?

  Fifteen minutes after Bruce said he was a gentleman, Greta started wishing he wasn’t. And she bet he was wishing he wasn’t either.

  Still curled against him, she could feel his body heat. Especially that particular body area—the one with the big rod in it. There was a lot of heat coming from there.

  A lot.

  And the big rod wasn’t exactly soft, either. The man had a raging hard-on.

  Greta tried to rationalize. After all, she was a woman pressed against his manly bits. Of course he’d get turned on, whether he meant to or not. It couldn’t possibly have anything to do with her. Could it?

  The very thought was so foreign to her, it didn’t make sense. A guy, a really good-looking guy like Bruce, attracted to her?

  What in the world did he see?

  And the writer in her head kicked in, because she’d written this a dozen times before. The heroine who doesn’t think the guy likes her at all, even with the evidence, well, very obvious. And while she’d written it enough times, she always wanted to kick the heroine in the head.

  Yet here she was, doing it in real life.

  Of course, part of the reason she wrote was because she didn’t have a real life. Now she had one.

  And she was acting like her boneheaded heroines.

  She couldn’t let herself do that. Just once, she should let herself go, stop worrying so much, and accept what was right in front of her.

  Maybe he did. Maybe he might actually be into me.

  And would that be a horrible thing if he was?

  Of course not.

  She twisted a little, adjusting her position.

  Bruce let out a moan.

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” She pushed herself off.

  Bruce smiled—this utterly wicked grin shot vibes all the way to her toes. “Don’t be. You didn’t hurt me.”

  “I thought… You groaned.”

  “It wasn’t a bad thing, Greta.” He sat up, put his hand on her shoulder. They were mere inches apart, and she could still feel his warmth, even though they weren’t touching. Her biggest concern wasn’t being trapped between his legs. It was the way he looked at her. How his eyes had gotten so dark, and he looked very much like… like…

  Holy moly! He’s… he’s…

  Bruce mouth brushed hers. Soft in the first second, then not so much.

  This time, Greta let out a moan.

  “That’s a good sound.” Bruce kissed her again. “A very good sound.” The next kiss was more open, and a flicker of his tongue caressed her lips.

  How long had it been since a boy kissed her?

  She didn’t know.

  She didn’t really care as she wrapped her arms around his neck. Her hands slipped in his hair, and she pulled him against her.

  Clumsily. Their foreheads clunked together.

  Bruce chucked, meeting her eyes.

  “Sorry,” she whispered.

  “Don’t be. Glad I’m not the only one enthusiastic.”

  She raised her eyebrow. “Enthusiastic, huh?”

  He nodded. “You have no idea.”

  “Think I might.”

  He smiled. This time, when his lips crashed into hers, it was all tongues and teeth and heat and passion. He guided her backwards onto the couch as they kissed.

  All his manly bits pressed against all her girly bits, and it all fit together.

  She didn’t remember thinking she needed to push her hips into his, but she did it and Bruce let out another one of those moans. The sound sent shivers down her spine, in all the good ways. He slid his kisses over her throat, over the right side of her neck, up to her ear, sucking on that little spot, the one…

  Holy moly.

  Yeah, that one.

  Greta stroked his back, her fingers sort of digging into his shoulders, and he murmured something as he kissed along her throat.

  And she would have been fine. Perfectly, perfectly, fine if he hadn’t started kissing the left side, where her scars were.

  Her body went rigid, and she pressed against his chest.

  Bruce rose, panting. “What? Am I hurting you?”

  Immediately she covered her shoulder, pulling the neckline of her blouse over the scars. “I… I can’t…”

  He nodded. “I… I’m sorry. I didn’t think. I…”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know why you’d want to kiss there.” She shivered, the very thought of him wanting to touch her scars were—she didn’t know, gross or something.

  “Because it’s a part of you. I don’t care about them.”

  She balked. “Well I do.”

  “That’s not what I meant. They don’t scare me. They don’t disgust me.” He put his hand on her shoulder, very near the edge of one. Greta tensed.

  “Can you not see them?” She put her hand on her cheek to cover the marred skin.

  “I can see just fine. I think it’s you that can’t see.” He took her hand, pulling it from her scars. “You’re scarred. I get that. I don’t see them as a barrier. I see them
as part of you.” He released her hand, and stroked her cheek—specifically, the actual contours of the puckered skin. “And you, I adore. Do I like how you got them? No. But believe me, we all have scars. I see beyond the scars. Why don’t you?”

  What could she say? His words brought tears to her eyes.

  “I’m sorry… I’m sorry Greta.” He wiped away the escaped tear and ran down her cheek.

  “When you’ve always been judged by your scars, it’s hard to think of them as invisible.” Some of her curled hair fell down her back, and she covered the scars with it.

  Bruce touched her face, cupping her head in his hands. “What makes you beautiful isn’t on the outside to see, it’s what’s inside. And you have the most amazing mind. I thought you were amazing before, when I didn’t know you wrote those books. Now I’m completely in awe of you, Greta. You… You are quite possibly the most incredible person I know.”

  Her cheeks warmed. Had anyone ever said anything like that to her? Ever?

  Not that she could remember. Not even her parents. Certainly not a boy.

  Her heart hammered, tears burst from her eyes.

  Bruce ran his thumbs over her cheeks, wiping away the moisture.

  “I… Thank you,” she whispered and leaned into him. He pulled her into his arms, and, laid back down. This time when they lay together, all their respective bits were smashed against one another, except Greta was on top.

  The only movement was Bruce caressing her arm.

  “Some date I turned out to be,” Greta said, after what seemed like an eternity.

  “Perfect dates never happen,” Bruce replied. “We wouldn’t remember them anyway. It’s the screwed-up stuff that sticks.”

  Greta smirked. “Then I guess all mine will remain stuck in my brain forever.”

  “Lots of bad dates?”

  “Yeah, when I was in college mostly. Did my classes online, and there were these class chats, and occasionally I’d be asked to join someone at a coffee shop or something. Once in a while, I’d go. And leave. Or he’d leave.”

  “Idiots.” Bruce turned his head, kissing her on the cheek.

  “You’re probably the first guy who wasn’t put off by the scars.”

  “And I know your secret.”

  “My secret?”

  “Your pen name, dork,” he said, smirking.

  “Oh yeah, that one. Seems like I have so many, I don’t know which ones are which.”

  “There’s more?”

  Greta thought for a second. “Well, really, I guess not. You’ve got the two big ones. Scars. Pen name.”

  He twisted on the couch so they were lying face to face, and he put his leg over hers.

  Greta put her arm over his side, half to hold him on, half because, well, she liked touching him.

  “Why do you write under a pen name?” He stroked her cheek, his green eyes dark and so close, Greta had to meet his gaze. And it felt strange to look so much into someone’s eyes, but she didn’t turn away.

  Had she ever looked this much in anyone’s eyes?

  “Greta?” he asked.

  “Sorry, I was admiring your eyes. You have all sorts of green shades in there.”

  He smiled. “Your brown eyes are very pretty too. From a distance, they look dark, but up close, I can see all the varied shades of gold in there. They’re almost Twilight eyes.”

  She snorted. “I don’t know if I should be complimented or insulted.”

  “Whichever will get me in the least amount of trouble.”

  “Because you are a troublemaker.”

  “Of course.” They both started laughing, and he ran his hand over her hair, brushing a strand out of her face. “You didn’t answer my question, though. Why do you use a pen name?”

  “Oh, that.”

  “Yes, that.”

  “Uh, well, my mother, actually. She would probably have a coronary if she knew I wrote romance novels with—gasp—sex in them.”

  Bruce waggled his eyebrows. “You naughty girl.” He ran his fingers down her nose.

  She smiled. “I am, huh?”

  “I’ve read them. I know you are.”

  “Well, those are, uh…” She blushed and looked down. “They are my imagination.”

  “No field testing?” Bruce asked.

  She shook her head. “Not worth mentioning, anyway. I was young. Bumbling. All that jazz.”

  Bruce stroked her cheek. “Well, I think we may have to change that.” He kissed her.

  Holy moly.

  Yes, maybe we should.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Good God, she felt so amazing, Bruce thought as they kissed.

  Her hips pressed into all the right places against him, her curves perfectly fit in his hands, and her legs…

  She laid it over his, and he thought he might come right there. He ground his hips into hers, hindered by their layers of clothing, his first impulse was to rip her blouse off, get to her breasts underneath—breasts not hindered by a bra.

  Yet he kept his fingers in semi-respectable places. Along her side, over her hips, all things on this side of the clothing barrier.

  He may have dragged his hand up her side, feeling the swell of those gorgeous breasts, but he didn’t slide underneath.

  Today had been complicated, to say the least. If she froze again…

  Well, he’d go to bed here on the couch with blue balls if he had to.

  God, he hoped he didn’t have to.

  She rolled her hips into his, and let out a moan.

  Bruce reciprocated, sliding his hip… “Ugh,” he muttered. Why wasn’t this couch bigger?

  “What?” Greta whispered.

  “This couch is too small.”

  “Oh.” Her cheeks flamed red. “Um…”

  “Do you… would you want to—”

  “Yes.”

  Bruce didn’t waste any time, in case she changed her mind. He slid off, rather ungracefully, as Greta sat up.

  He held out his hand.

  She took it. Tentatively, but she took it.

  He led her into the bedroom, forcing himself not to do a happy dance.

  When they came in, Greta hesitated at the door.

  Bruce, stumbling from her stop, turned. “We won’t do anything you don’t want to do, okay?”

  She nodded and took a shy step forward.

  He let go of her hand, and went to sit on his bed. “Come here, join me.”

  She joined him, her hands shaking.

  He squeezed her trembling hands. “I want to play a game.”

  “What game?”

  “The Exploration of Bruce.”

  She raised her eyebrow. “And how does that work?”

  He smiled. “I will do whatever you want me to do.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “If you want me to strip, I will. If you want me to lie down, I will. Anything you want, I will do. I am completely at your mercy.”

  “I… I don’t know if I—” She looked down. “I’m not, well, I’m not a dominatrix.”

  “You don’t have to be. I want you to be in charge. We’ll do what you want. If you want me to, say, lay naked on the bed while you explore, I’ll do it. Anything you want.” He was so worried she would bolt, he wanted her comfortable.

  She nodded.

  “So what do you wish?”

  She reached for his shirt, fiddling with the buttons. “I think I want this off.”

  He reached to unfasten it.

  “No, let me.”

  “As you wish.”

  He sat perfectly still as she scooted closer. She brushed a hair out of her face, and took in a breath. Her fingers trembled as she unfastened the first button. Barely touching his skin, she moved to the second button, unfastened the cla
sp, and pulled the shirt open. Then the next, and the next, until she had his chest exposed.

  For a moment, she merely sat there, staring at the thin line of skin the shirt revealed, and didn’t move.

  “Do you want me to take this off?” Bruce asked.

  “Yes, please.”

  Bruce did as she wished, and tossed it to the floor, and while he knew he wasn’t a huge body builder, he wasn’t exactly plain under his shirt either. Greta brought her hand up, very delicately touching the lines of his pectoral muscles—

  Bruce let out a laugh.

  Greta pulled her hand away. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be, it tickles.”

  She raised her eyebrow. “You’re ticklish?”

  “Sure, isn’t everyone?” He jumped when she started tickling his ribs. “Hey!” He grabbed her hand.

  Greta let out a laugh as she continued her tickling onslaught. He pinned her to the bed, holding her hands over her head.

  “You are ornery.”

  “And?” She wiggled beneath him, but couldn’t quite break away from him.

  “And, I think I need to do something about that!”

  “Like what?” Greta asked.

  “This!” He tickled her back with his free hand. She let out a squeal, jerking her hands from his grip. She pushed him over, both of them trying to tickle the other. He rolled her to her back, and lay atop her again.

  This time, though, they both panted for breath, and when their gazes met, Bruce kissed her, hard.

  Greta wrapped her arms around him, her fingernails digging into his back. He moaned, the pleasure and pain of it ramping up his arousal a hundred fold.

  She rocked her hips into his, and he returned in kind. This time, though, there wasn’t an awkward couch to impede their kissing.

  When he kissed her neck, he made sure not to kiss the left side. He pulled at her blouse, revealing as much skin as he could without unbuttoning it—though he wanted to rip it open.

  As if she knew what he wanted, she slid her hand between them and unfastened the top few buttons. Bruce needed little encouragement. He continued to kiss her soft skin, sliding toward the valley. Stroking the outsides of each breast, he felt the hard bud through the fabric, and nuzzled his way over and kissed her breast, making her groan.